


Hawke's Shadow

by jillyfae



Series: Sweetest of All Sounds [21]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Family, Ficlet Collection, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's more to Thedas than what Hawke sees or Sebastian hears; prompt-fills and ficlets from alternative points-of-view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. not just a farmboy

Carver Hawke never really got over the feel of Ferelden.  

Even when surrounded by white walls and stone steps, the sounds of the chains creaking in the bay on a quiet night at the docks, he always still felt like there was mud under his nails.  The kind you got from plowing and weeding and planting, the kind that never completely washed away, no matter how much you scrubbed.

No matter how good you got with a sword, you were always still a farmboy underneath it all.

***

As far as he could tell, his mother was just as miserable now as she had been in the Wilds, on the way to Gwaren, stuck interminably on ship, waiting again in the Gallows, trying to settle at Uncle Gamlen's.  And yet she kept coming back. Once a week, as unavoidable as sunset, attend a Chant, light two candles, pray for Father and Bethany.

He escorted her, every week, and managed not to scowl too much.

But it certainly didn't help him feel better.

Bethany had always had the nicest singing voice in the family.

***

The lone blade in a house of mages.  

The lone man surrounded by women.  

The lone half of a set, broken and off balance.  It hurt to breathe, as if he'd lost half his lungs along with half his heart and half his soul.  

It hurt to wake up, every morning, in a house with too few women in it.

He thought he felt lost when Father died.  But even if he didn't know where he was going, he kept moving forward.  Somewhere, somehow, one boot in front of the other.   _Bethany rolling her eyes behind his back, smiling oh so extra sweetly whenever he turned around._

Now, though, he wasn't going anywhere, circling and spiraling tighter and tighter into the dregs of Kirkwall.

He missed singed socks, from when she got mad at him.

He missed lumpy soup for dinner, from when she'd been paying more attention to her book than her cooking.

He missed her giggle when she was teasing, the flash of her eyes when he attempted to tease back and always,  _always,_ annoyed the calm right out of her.

He'd always been rather proud that he was the only one who could always make her mad.   _Not as smooth and calm as you think you are, hmm sister?_

She'd been the only one who could always make him laugh, the only one who didn't care that he seldom said the right thing, the only one who always forgave him.  For everything.

He wasn't supposed to be alone.

***

Adelaide Hawke had always loved her baby brother,  _even when she sort-of hated him_ , and had always been impressed by his strength and skill,  _even when she wished he was a little more fragile so it would hurt when she smacked him._

But the look on his face, finding her in one piece during all this craziness, was the first time she  _felt_ how much he loved her too, as adults, respect and honour and trust.

Of course, she rather wrecked the pleasant moment by squealing at him and wrapping him up in a hug like he was five again, but his rolled eyes and grumbles were much less serious than they'd been a few years gone, his arms tight around her as he hugged her back.

_It's good to be alive, better still to know you're always out there too._

_***_

"It'll be alright."  Carver squatted down to Daryn's eye-level, feeling the movement in his knees as he never would've back when they lived at Uncle Gamlen's.

Wardening was hard on a man, hard on the blood and the bones, and the ache in your joints never went away, even when you took the armour off and snuck back home for a visit.

Not that it was a pleasant visit.

_As if Hawkes were ever good at pleasant._

The mabari tilted his head, willing to listen, though his eyes were dark and sad.

"She'll be alright.  Anders says so."

Carver was surprised to feel himself grin when Daryn huffed out a loud grunt.  Apparently the mabari had  _concerns_  about Anders.  

"He's complicated, Daryn.  Part mage, part Warden, part who knows what.  But he really is a good healer."

Daryn's soft whine was remarkably eloquent.  Carver sighed, and collapsed all the way down to sit on the cellar floor.  "Yeah, I know.  Waiting.  Dreadful.  Never been good at it either."  Something in his heart clenched in surprise when Daryn settled to the floor beside him, his giant head heavy against Carver's knee.  "Why aren't you waiting with her anyways, boy?"

Another huff, another unexpected smile.   _Got kicked out of the bedroom, too, did you?_  

"I can't stay more than a day.  I..."  Carver swallowed, reaching out slowly until his hand hovered over Daryn's head, the slightest tremble shivering through his fingers.  

Daryn lifted his head, smacking right against Carver's palm, and he felt the hot prickle in his eyes.  "Maker, Daryn, why do these things keep happening to us?  I mean, I couldn't stay in Kirkwall and help,  _I couldn't_ , and how was I supposed to know she was going to fight the bloody Arishok?"

Of course she'd think that was a good idea, her staff against a giant horned monster, her life a worthwhile price to save Kirkwall.

_Bloody idiot._

"She won't die on us, Daryn.  I'm sure of it."

He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself, or the mabari.  He  _was_  quite sure he hadn't managed it for either of them.  Carver's fingers scratched gently against the hard skull under wiry fur, and they both sighed.

_Back to waiting._

*** 

"But I don't want to start a war, Carver!"

"I bet you also don't want your Chantry Prince to die protecting you from the crazy Knight-Commander, now do you?"

Adelaide felt her mouth drop open, just a little, unsure if she was more embarrassed or startled or embarrassed or,  _yeah, blushing now_.

"When did Junior get so smart?" Varric slapped Carver on the back, the sort of hard swing that usually made someone stumble, the dwarf being even stronger than he looked, ( _and he looks rather like a hurricane wouldn't knock him over_ ).  

Carver didn't even have to shift his weight, though.  "I was always smart."  He shrugged slightly.  "I was just too busy complaining for anyone to notice."

Adelaide snorted softly.  "Even you?"

She was delighted to see a hint of a smile as he looked back at her.  "Even me."

"Glad we cleared that up then."  Varric shifted Bianca higher up on his shoulder.  "Can we go stop people from killing us now?"

"Just like old times."  Carver's smile broadened.

"Better, this time."  Adelaide grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly.  "Thank you, brother."

He squeezed back, hard enough she had to shake her fingers to get the feeling back when he let go, suddenly possessed of the urge to stick her tongue out at him, just like when they children.  He winked, obviously recognizing her expression, then turned and followed Varric out of the Court.

There was probably something wrong with her, to be smiling at such a moment, but it was good to have him back, even if for just a little while.


	2. errands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my personal head-canon, before/during Act 1, Sebastian is still serving as a Brother in the Chantry, and the Duty quest line actually takes place between acts. 'Cause otherwise he’d presumably be a party member and fighting mercenaries in Act 1. :P

"Brother Sebastian, is it?"  Carver scowled, reminding himself not to actually slump against the wall.  They frowned on that, the Priests, as if the stone cared about his shoulders.  

"Yes?"  The man in robes,  _silly looking things, robes, you'd think they'd tangle around people's knees,_ turned from whatever boring Chantry thing he'd been doing.  His turn stopped, a hand's-width sooner than looked natural, and blinked.  "Do I know you, serah?"

"Course not."   _Void.  Even the stupid Brother's thinks I look like m'sister's over-sized shadow._    "Pretty sure you've met my sister though."

"Hawke?"

Carver snorted.   _Always Hawke.  Like there aren't two other people with the same blasted last name._ "That's the one."

"Is she -" The Brother took a half-step forward, then stopped again.  "Is there something I can do for you, Serah Hawke?"

"Just running errands for Lirene."  _Little friendly blackmail between siblings.  I help with Lirene, she doesn't ask where I spend my evenings._   "Wondered if you had the next crate of donations ready for her."

"By yourself?"

"What, think I can't lift it?"

"Of course not, it's mostly clothes.  But it's rather too large to handle easily.  You wouldn't have your hands free."  His chin tilted slightly, and it took Carver a moment to realize he was aiming his gaze at the sword hilt over his shoulder.  "An unpleasant proposition, in Lowtown, not being able to reach one's weapons."

"I can take care of myself.  Not like I have to make it to Darktown."

The Brother's eyes widened in disagreement, his expression suddenly remarkably similar to one of Adelaide's favourite  _did you really think I'd believe that story?_  faces.  

_No wonder she likes him.  Can be bossy little prigs together, singing the Chant at people whether they want to hear it or not._

"No reason not to take precautions.  I can walk with you, it's no trouble."

"You?"   _Robes aren't gonna do you a bit of good against a pig-sticker._

"Certainly.  If you'll wait, just a moment."

It took a bit longer than a moment, but Carver was rather sure if he didn't bring the blasted crate back to Lirene's before dusk, he'd have his sister or her dog on his heels for the rest of his life, and too much of that made it hard for a man to breathe.

_Not that she thinks I'm a man.  Still treats me like I'm twelve.  Only with a better sword for hitting bandits with._

He finally heard the man's footsteps returning, only to witness a shiny white ponce carting a crate towards him.    

"After you, Serah Hawke."  

Carver snorted, shaking his head as he headed towards the door.  "Here I thought you were trying to make me less of a target," he muttered softly.  Softly enough the Brother probably didn't hear him.   _At least it's armour, I suppose?_ Hopefully they wouldn't have to test out how useful either the armour or the Brother wearing it really was in a fight.


	3. choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carver _really_ doesn't care for Uncle Gamlen

He knew they were supposed to be saving money.  Athenril didn’t actually pay them much, after all, _indentured servants, thanks ever so much Uncle,_ but she did let them take their share of the loot when there was any, and made sure they had potions and weapons and armor.

And he’d gotten actual coin for once, rather than supplies he would’ve felt he had to give his mother to sell or trade with Lirene.  Just this once, he wanted something for himself, a break, just a night.

That wasn’t so awful, was it?

Or he didn’t think it would be, until he saw his damned Uncle sitting at the bar, and turned around and left the Rose before he saw him too.

Instead he went to the Hanged Man, as usual, and played at cards and drank too much ale and had to go back to the hovel to sleep.

He didn’t even get laid.

***

“Oh, right, helping lyrium smugglers because Athenril gave you a tip, that’s a grand idea.  Because, why, again?  Because you said so?  ’Cause you’re always right, you bloody idiot, why am I getting ready to help you again?”

Carver heard an amused snort from across the room, and lifted his head with a scowl.  Seeing Uncle Gamlen almost nodding in agreement with the complaining he’d been doing under his breath as he cleaned his leathers made something twist unpleasantly in his stomach.   _I don’t sound like him, now do I?_

***

Every time they counted their money, discussed supplies and weapons and potions and times, something tightened in their mother’s eyes.  In some ways it was a relief, the way she’d finally started seeing them again, started living.

The way she’d finally meet his eyes again, after almost a year of wincing away from his face.

But at the same time it made a weight settle in his gut, created a bitter taste in the back of his throat as he swallowed.  Because his sister always paused when it happened, her shoulders hunched and her eyes dark, staring at their mother’s face, trying to figure out how to put the pieces of their little broken family back together.

Not that that was possible.  But trust Adelaide to think somehow she was supposed to do it anyways.

He used to like that about her.  Now he rather wanted to smack some sense into her.  Sometimes you had to accept that the world was shit and move on.

Sometimes you had to accept that mother wasn’t ever going to forgive the either of them for anything.

He gave up on pretending he still had hope left after Bethany, and sat at the bar right next to Gamlen at the Rose when he had a night to himself, both agreeing not to mention it to anyone else.

***

Mother finally stood up and voiced her worry.   _Can’t lose both of you, can’t lose my baby Carver,_  as if she’d given him more than two glances the past year,  _please leave him behind._

As if he wasn’t the one who’d heard the first rumors and told them about them, as if he hadn’t fought just as hard to earn the money to buy into the Expedition, as if he hadn’t spent his whole sodding life doing whatever needed doing to keep Bethany and Adelaide safe and hidden.

He stalked out of the house at that, that weak whisper masquerading as his mother, too furious to speak, almost ran straight into Gamlen coming home.

Gamlen smiled, a twist of his lips that had nothing to do with being happy and everything to do with contempt, with the bitter edge of yet another disappointment.

And familiarity.  He knew exactly how Carver felt, now didn’t he.

Carver barely made it down the stairs and around the corner before he fell back against the wall, knees weak and head aching.

_You cannot take away my chance, my plan.  You can’t throw me back under mother’s skirts like some child’s toy._

_I’ll turn into Gamlen, nothing but alcohol and bitter dreams turned to soot._

_Please sister._

_Don’t treat me like him._


	4. all that remains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? this references Leandra's death, for those not familiar with the title of the quest line

"She'll be fine, boy."

Daryn whined in disagreement, slumped down in front of the hearth, his poor sad mabari eyes staring fixedly up the stairs.  

_She'll be fine eventually?_

Daryn was right.  Hawke wasn't doing too well.

Not that there was any reason to be doing well, after what they'd seen,  _black stitches and blank eyes and a voice fading ..._ Varric was seriously wondering if even he'd have nightmares tonight, Fade-proof-dwarven-constitution or not.

Hawke had faked something resembling composure well enough for Gamlen, and her piss-pot of an Uncle had left again, off to drown his sorrows and rage under someone else's roof, but her face was too still and her eyes too wide, even as she kept her voice disturbingly steady.

Aveline had dragged Hawke off to bathe off the blood, at least,  and Varric hated to admit it, even to himself, but they could use an extra hand,  _could use a voice that she'll want to hear, even now._

Could use someone who would know what to do.

It twisted in Varric's gut, just a little, that he hadn't a clue.  None of them did, much better at dealing with wounds of the body than this, this horror that snuck in without leaving a mark.  Not one you could see, anyhow.

And for all Choir Boy was singularly good at putting his foot in his mouth,  _this,_ this was the sort of weight he'd insist on shouldering.

As soon as he got back from dealing with Leandra, of course.  He'd looked old, for once, that noble-pretty face of his lined and shadowed.  He'd kissed Hawke good-bye and turned her up towards Hightown, and then kept on going, shoulders bowed but stride firm, Fenris padding silently by his side.  He'd known who to go see at the Chantry, even known who would be willing to drag a cart down to the nearest Lowtown entrance to pick up the bo- ... to pick her up.

_I've done my share of death-duties, Varric, I'll be fine._

Which was a bald-faced lie, of course, none of them were fine.  But it would be easier for  _her_ , tomorrow, to know Leandra was cared for, to know she was ready to be memorialized.  To not have to worry about anything except showing up for her pyre, in a day or so.

Maybe then, they'd all be able to remember her differently, remember who she'd been, rather than that last gruesome moment, an unwilling bride and broken breath ...

Varric swallowed.

Yeah.  He was definitely starting to understand the dangers of nightmares.

 


	5. The Vael Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grandfather Vael teaching young Sebastian, for [chignon](http://chignonesque.tumblr.com)

It was only in this last small grandchild, the unexpected, undesired, frequently forgotten son, that he finally saw his heart come full circle.  The way young ‘Bastian bit his lip as he thought, the way the light caught in blue eyes when he laughed, the way he always hunted down every lost toy and tried each new chore again,  _and again, and again …_  it was as if his own long-dead brother was back, the rightful Prince whose place he’d never quite forgiven himself for taking, all those years ago, and he was forgiven.

His son, the current Prince, might have wished for another child to bear a sword like a proper warrior, but he knew, oh he knew, that this last young boy was meant to be an archer, just like his Grandfather before him.


	6. secrecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My darling [sept](http://shadoedseptmbr.tumblr.com) requested _keeping a secret_ with Carver and Bethany via [this](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/69186018546) prompt meme on tumblr. And generally speaking, if no one specifies otherwise, DA prompts generally end up being related to Adelaide. <3

She didn’t want him to tell.

When Dellie’s magic had come, _putting his pet mouse to sleep by mistake when Fusty’d sniffed at her toes and startled her,_ she’d been delighted, once the shock wore off, had spun around ‘til her skirt tangled ‘round her knees, humming a tune he’d never heard before, babbling to Father about music and shivering and warmth between her knuckles, and  _wasn’t it beautiful_?

Mother had moved too slowly that day, like when she’d sprained her wrist, like things hurt she hadn’t expected.  Father’s face had been strange and tight, and his voice even deeper than normal as he took Dellie away to talk to her alone.

And now Bethy too.  

But she wasn’t happy about it, fingers tangling together, staring at him with eyes gone wide, the air still smelling odd and dark and scorched from the fire that had dripped from her fingertips, singeing the grass beneath them.

_Please, Carver._

That’s what that look said.

_Please._

_Please don’t make me be a mage like Father, like Dellie, the ones the Templars hunted and the Priests condemned and the neighbors feared._

But what if she’d lost her temper in front of that idiot Bram, rather than when she’d been telling Carver about it?

What if she’d set  _him_ on fire?

Not that Bram didn’t deserved scorched britches, but what if someone had seen?

What if someone had been hurt?

All he could see were Bethy’s wide eyes, but all he could hear was the echo of Father’s voice as he quieted Dellie, as he told her she had to stay calm, that it wasn’t all fun.

That it wasn’t all safe.

Carver shook his head.

Bethy closed her eyes, her face too pale beneath her lashes, and stepped back.

Away from him.

For the first time in his life, he felt alone.


	7. Good cheer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver and Bethany, game prequel... Prompt!fic: [lyndztanica](http://lyndztanica.tumblr.com/) asked for "The Hawke kids at the holidays, trying to make something to surprise their parents?"
> 
> Which ended up as more of a day-after-Christmas story ... *laughs*

"Feast-day was yesterday, Carver."  Bethany rocked up onto her toes, her hands clenched around the edge of her apron as Carver practically climbed all the way into the pantry, digging for something away in the back.

He just grunted in response, though she could pretty clearly imagine the look on his face as he rolled his eyes at her.

He finally slithered back out again, a loud thump as his boots hit the floor, and turned around to grin at her.  "Found 'em."

"Raisins?  Really, Carver,  _what are you doing?_ "

"We," he rather pointedly glared at her, "are making Papa's favorite stew for dinner, and a fresh loaf of Mama's cinnamon bread, and you will finish that braided rug you were working on, while I finish the leather straps for Papa and the mabari."

"A day late?"

"Well, they never let us alone before hand, now did they?"

They rather hadn't, the few moons being oddly hectic, and Papa moving slower than usual, having come down with some sort of lingering cough that even his magic couldn't heal.

They deserved something nice, didn't they?  "Satinalia day two?"

Carver shrugged, half awkward and half hopeful.

He was trying so hard to make everything better.  

Bethany smiled.  "Alright then.  Move over, I'll find the cinnamon."


	8. endure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leandra Amell to Leandra Hawke, away from Kirkwall and back again

_hold_

Through escape, through winter and starving and freezing and still your stomach grows, still it shifts beneath your hands no matter how desperate you are for stillness, for just a little rest.

_hold_

Through making a home, and losing it, again, again, a partner who can make you laugh in the darkest of nights but doesn’t know how to keep the fire going without that tell-tale impossible spark that means you have to run again. 

Sometimes you just want to be warm without having to make the blanket yourself.

_hold_

Through twins.

_hold_

Through sleepless nights. He tries, but it is harder to teach him what to do than it is to do it yourself, how to fold a diaper, how to warm a bottle without scalding, how to wait,  _wait,_  wait with them when they cry and nothing in the world will soothe.

Adelaide is barely walking, barely talking, but still she helps, she watches them, sings her made-up baby songs, catches their fingers when they grab, and cuddles with them both so they will sleep.

The twins are quietest when they’re with her, so you rock the cradle that is barely large enough to hold a tangle of three small souls, keeping watch as the fire settles and the stars and moons turn across the sky outside.

_hold_

Through more magic.

Everything you have done is forgotten, everything you have done is useless, now it’s entirely up to him to keep you all safe.

You start making more tinctures, more potions, more poisons, a row of glinting glass bottles that are the closest thing to security you’ll ever have.

_hold_

Through so many years, too many homes, until at last you settle, at last you dare to think you’re safe.

The children chafe, the twins both trying to escape in their equal and opposite directions, Bethany inside herself and Carver as far from Lothering as possible.

Adelaide remembers fleeing in the middle of the night, Adelaide knows what running costs. She holds them here, guards them, soothes them, distracts them, makes them laugh in the dark, and your heart aches at that, because she is stronger than both of you, that laugh and hands that know how to work… 

And yet the twins only look to Malcolm.

Always and only and forever.

You give, and give, you endure, and now Adelaide holds, your darling, your poor grown-up child, but Malcolm laughs, joy enough to fill your house no matter how late, how tired, how dark the night.

Until he dies.

Until you can’t hold, not anymore, not again.

_Until you break._


End file.
